


just like the seasons (change)

by shineyma



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Episode: s01e17 Turn Turn Turn, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7823560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grant had plans for the uprising. He just wasn't expecting these circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just like the seasons (change)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic in June, decided I hated it, and have spent actual months trying to rewrite it into something I DIDN'T hate. I have failed repeatedly and completely. But I'm tired of having it sitting in my unposted fic folder taunting me, so...ta-da!
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!

Grant’s had years to prepare for the uprising. Everyone—or everyone in HYDRA, at least—knew it was coming, and he knew when he married Jemma that he’d have to deal with it someday. It only took a few weeks of dating to know that he wouldn’t be turning her; she’s good down to her core, and while the right pressures applied from the right angles might drive her away from SHIELD, it would take a hell of a lot more to drive her _to_ HYDRA.

So, yeah. He knew his loyalties would be an issue. He knew that when the uprising came and she realized just which flag he was flying, he’d have some serious bumps to smooth over. He _knew_ , and he planned for it. He’s been planning for years. He thought he was ready.

But while he was prepared for the uprising, he _wasn’t_ prepared for Jemma being _pregnant_ during it—or, even worse, pregnant and on the _other side of the world_.

“We’re all right,” she promises—for probably the tenth time—as he gives her another once-over. The last sixteen hours have been the longest of his _life_ ; his heart hasn’t stopped racing since the moment his call with her dropped out mid-sentence, and even now, he’s having trouble accepting that she’s here and safe with him. “Truly, Grant, the worst I got was a sharp look. Agent Hand was surprisingly gentle.”

Yeah, Grant’s keeping his opinion on _that_ to himself. “And the baby?”

“Fine,” she says, catching one of his hands and guiding it to rest on her stomach. Their daughter obligingly kicks his palm. “Very active and utterly unconcerned with my comfort, as always.”

“Hand dragged one of the docs out of the holding cells to check her over,” Trip volunteers, reminding Grant that they’ve got a shamelessly eavesdropping audience. “Not an OB-GYN, but still more qualified than either of us to say—and she said Jemma and the baby’re both fine.”

“Good.” Grant still can’t relax—probably won’t be able to for another three weeks, at least—but it’s enough reassurance that he can _fake_ it. He gathers the shreds of his composure and pulls himself together, pressing a quick kiss to Jemma’s forehead before turning to Trip and Skye. “Is everyone else okay?”

“Nice of you to finally remember us,” Skye teases…but she looks uncomfortable. “No one’s seriously hurt, but—um.” She bites her lip. “There’s a thing.”

“What thing?” he asks warily. Jemma’s gone still beside him, and Trip is avoiding his eyes. “What is it?”

“The Clairvoyant,” Trip spits, angrier than Grant’s ever seen him. “It’s Garrett.”

Oh. That.

“Yeah,” Grant says heavily. He sinks onto the stool next to Jemma, projecting a careful combination of exhaustion, hurt, and betrayal. “I heard.”

It earns him surprised looks—and a sympathetic squeeze of the hand from Jemma—until he pulls the comm out of his ear and holds it up. He took it from the first guard he killed, intending to use it to keep ahead of any coordinated security efforts.

Instead, he got a hell of an earful.

“Hand wasn’t the only one eavesdropping,” he says simply, and Skye and Trip both wince.

“So, you heard…?”

“Every word,” he confirms, and it’s his turn to squeeze Jemma’s hand as she shivers beside him.

John had a lot to say about Jemma—or, more specifically, about his _plans_ for her. Just remembering his sly innuendos sets Grant’s blood to boiling, even though he knows it was all an act, meant to reinforce his own cover. His close relationship with John might have hurt the team’s trust in him; outlining all kinds of terrible plans for Jemma and how she could be used to control and motivate Grant was just John’s way of preventing that.

Still, it wasn’t easy for him to hear, and he knows it must have been a million times worse for Jemma.

“Oh, good,” Skye says, and then hesitates. “I mean, not _good_ good, I just—really wasn’t looking forward to having to tell you.”

But she was going to anyway.

“Thanks,” he says.

She smiles weakly. “You bet.”

“And now that we know you know,” Trip says, eyes bouncing from Grant to Jemma and back, “we should check in with your team, see if Coulson’s still got everything under control.”

“Right,” Skye agrees. “Definitely.”

They beat a hasty retreat, which Grant appreciates—even though they could’ve been a _lot_ more subtle. Jemma sways into him as soon as they’re gone, and reassurances aside, it’s hard to believe she’s really okay. She looks pale under the Hub’s fluorescent lights, and hours of stress and worry have added lines to her face that don’t belong there.

“You’re sure you’re—”

“Fine,” she promises again, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Just tired.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.” Unfortunately… “I’d offer you my bunk on the Bus, but Hand’s people shot the cabin level up pretty bad. I doubt there’s much left of my bed.”

“That’s all right,” she says, fingers playing over his. She hasn’t stopped touching him since she threw herself into his arms the second he stepped into the room—which is fine by him, obviously. “I’m sure there are intact quarters _somewhere_ on base.”

She doesn’t make any move to stand and go look for them, though, and neither does he. Now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t stop remembering the moment he opened the door: the split second of terror on Jemma’s face before she recognized him, the way it melted away once she _did_ …

She trusted—trusts—him completely. Even after learning that John is HYDRA, even after hearing John threaten her and their unborn child both—even _knowing_ how close he and John are, and that John was the one to bring him into SHIELD in the first place—she trusts him.

There’s blood smeared on her neck, transferred there from his hands when he held her close for a kiss. He knows there’s even more of it on him, and she knows—because he told her—that most of it isn’t his. He killed his way through the Hub, in direct defiance of Coulson’s orders, to get to her.

And she still trusts him. She isn’t afraid of him at all. He came to her with bloody hands and she sobbed in relief.

Something of his thoughts must escape into his posture, because Jemma’s frowning when she lifts her head to look up at him.

“Grant?”

Her eyes are shadowed and tired, but still beautiful. Still full of everything she feels for him—a jumble as complicated as it is simple, joy and trust and _love_.

And not a single, solitary drop of fear.

He planned for this day, and even if it didn’t play out the way he was expecting, his plans can be adapted. All he has to do is spin a story about wanting to be the one to turn the key on John’s cell, play up his reluctance to be separated from Jemma, and let Coulson’s bleeding heart do the rest. He’ll be out of here, with Jemma at his side, in a position to free John from custody.

Jemma will learn he’s HYDRA, but he’s got plans for that, and her vulnerable state will make it that much easier to manipulate her—to win her over. It’ll take time—months, if not years—but eventually, she’ll accept his loyalties and adopt them as her own.

He’s planned for it. He’s prepared himself for it.

But he knows what it’ll entail, and after sixteen hours hanging on to his sanity by the tiniest thread…sixteen hours spent in panic for her and terror over their unborn child…

He can’t see the love in her eyes turn to hate. He can’t see her flinch away from him. Years, months—even _minutes_ would be too long to bear it.

“I love you,” he says, and kisses her softly.

She smiles, looking a little puzzled but not overly concerned. “I love you, too.”

There’s only one thing in the world that would hurt him worse than letting John down, and that’s hurting Jemma. He doesn’t want her to _ever_ have reason to doubt him, and he sure as hell doesn’t want fear of him to be something their daughter learns at her knee.

He owes John everything, but…Jemma and their daughter and their _future_ are more important than an old debt—more important even than the only person he’d ever willingly claim as a parent.

John dug his own hole, showing his hand this early.

Let him dig himself out of it.

“Let’s go find a room,” Grant says, and Jemma doesn’t—will never, if he has his way—know it, but as they go, he leaves a lot more than just the empty gun he dropped on a random table behind.


End file.
